


Rules of Engagement

by haloj



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Rom-Com w, University, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloj/pseuds/haloj
Summary: Peter Parker and Michelle Jones are the worst Best Man and Maid of Honor of all time as they out-do one another with respective Bachelorette/Bachelor party plans. Hilarity ensues, mostly at Ned and Betty's expense. AU-University age, Rom-Com that flirts periodically with slapstick or crack.





	1. Share Information

Negotiation Tactic #1: Share Information

“Share information. We often approach negotiations being very guarded and wary of showing our cards.” ---The first rule in “Six Surprising Negotiation Tactics That Get You the Best Deal”

 

They say that boys are more visual by nature, which sounds like a load of bullshit; but just in case, I stuck my index finger in front of his dumb face to keep his attention. 

“Concession number one: No finger banging.”

Peter cracked up before I could continue. “Seriously, this is how you start the bachelor/bachelorette party negotiations off?”

I had my index finger nod for me.

“ What is wrong with you….” Peter leaned into my face, checking for dilated pupils like a cop before smirking. “…..did you eat paint chips as a kid or what?” 

I tucked in my index finger and allowed the middle bird to fly. Anyone with a half of brain knew lead-based paint had been banned since 1978. Odds are those paint chips I sucked on with my cousin Gabby in my youth were water-based.

Peter’s eyes were volleying between my pupils and finger while he continued to yap.

“….because that would be the only explanation for how you are, Michelle. Lead poisoning.”

The bird transformed into a fist. “Watch it, Keebs.”

That was the nickname I gave him way back in high school—a fusion between Justin Biebs and the Keebler elf. He was all hair and puppy eyes and height challenges back then. How that didn’t catch on better than Thompson’s super-basic “Penis Parker” is beyond me. 

Peter wasn’t impressed by my threat though, merely smiling at my scrawny knuckles. “Watch it yourself, Slim. I’m not the one flinging my fingers around while fixating on digital manipulation.”

His retaliatory nickname for me back then? Slim Jim. I was all hair and puppy eyes and legs myself. 

“Digital manipulation, “ I squeaked out incredulously. “Talk dirty to me some more with your overly clinical, Amish porn stylings.”

Peter arched an eyebrow my way with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, I seem to recall that a certain Michelle Jones in high school would have lapped up any dirty talk I sent her way, Amish or otherwise. If I’m not mistaken, that same Michelle Jones wanted to take me out on the town once on her own dime and have her way with me.”

One dance. I asked that hobbit to one Sadie’s Hawkins dance in eleventh grade. And he’s never let me live it down either, even though it had been almost four years since we graduated from Midtown.

“Number one, Keebs: why are you talking like an extra from the musical “Guys and Dolls?”

He was about to answer, but I cut him off.

“Secondly: Ew,” contorting my face. “You were like a practice dummy date for me before I launched myself on a real boy with working anatomical parts.”

“Oh, everything was working just fine back then, sweetheart,” he shot back, continuing his Bugsy Malone impression.

“Peter….” I pinched my thumb and index finger together. “You were like.. three feet tall back then and prepubescent and smooth as a Ken Doll down there. I would have gotten more friction dry humping my pillow.”

I knew I was getting to him, cause his little angry forehead vein was popping out now. 

Bugsy sat back a little, his legs spreading eagle while his palms faced up on each leg: “Put a quarter in and see how this horsey rides now, Dollface.”

“Accckkk…” I squeal-cackled, slapping his knee. These were my favorite things about the normally mild-mannered Peter Parker, even back in high school: he refused to lose an argument, would give as good as he got, and was funny as hell while doing it. 

I was two seconds away from offering him a 20 dollar bill instead if he made it worth my while, but then Mr. Leeds had to go ruin everything by coughing pointedly in our direction. 

Peter spoke up quickly. “Sorry, Sir. We’ll keep our voices down.”

Aaaannd….that was the thing I hated most about Peter: how quickly the fight left him. 

Let’s get a few things straight about Peter Parker. He’d just spent the last half hour trying to flip a water bottle right side up on the table and let out a big “HEYYYYY!” when he finally accomplished his feat—to the applause of no one. His idea of “Sunday-best” for this party was to layer a “Pi—It’s Mathematically Delicious” graphic shirt with a zip-up hoodie. He wore beltless jeans that sagged in the ass without apology—even though I personally was asking for one. But all that straight white male hotmessiness didn’t take away from the fact that underneath the saggy jeans was an ass that outpopped any Kardashian sister. 

Jenner siblings included. 

So to answer the eternal question regarding Peter Parker and his unfortunate sex appeal?

Yes….yes I still would….but I’d spit in his face afterwards.

“Okay, let’s get back to business, Jones,” his new tone aloof and business-like. Not a hint of Al Capone anywhere. 

“Fine-back to business. Is finger banging where I start negotiations off? Yes. With you, finger banging is EXACTLY where I’d start off bachelor party negotiations. I thought I’d work up to the ‘no-accidentally-killing-any-sex-workers-and-then-dumping-them-in-the–desert’ clause.”

Ned’s Auntie Darlene shot me a disapproving stare. Betty’s mom and her perpetual stink eye were bringing up the rear. Apparently my “inside” voice was comparable to others’ “outside” voices.

Perhaps talk of murder and mayhem was not appropriate subject matter either for a hastily-planned engagement party at Ned’s uncle’s restaurant. It was decorated charmingly with Christmas lights and flower centerpieces on each table. Adobo, chicharons, and beer were free-flowing. However, not even a freshly-fried pork skin could lighten the tense mood of the occasion.

Betty was so close to graduation—one semester away---when sweet little Ned Leeds put a baby inside her. And since they were planning on marrying anyways, they decided to shotgun it.

Not exactly the type of nuptials Mrs. Brant had anticipated for for her only daughter.

And my dumb mouth wasn’t helping matters. I leaned over Peter’s lap to pat her elbow reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Brant. Ned is a fine, upstanding citizen. He’d call 9-1-1 at the first sight of exotic dancer blood—“

Before I knew it, I was almost airborne as Peter picked me up from my arm pits and stood me up straight. Then my arm was almost pulled out of its socket as Peter hauled my ass out of the restaurant and onto a bench outside. 

“What is wrong with us,” he whispered for like the second time in two minutes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve got one job as Maid of Honor and Best Man. We’re supposed to be helping Betty and Ned, not freaking out their parents more about their shotgun wedding.”

“I know, I know,” I said, like I had it all under control-even as I peered into the restaurant and saw Mrs. Brant dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “But I actually have two jobs. Help Betty, AND make sure Ned doesn’t fingerbang anyone in the VIP room at his bachelor party.”

Peter cringed while he closed his eyes, no doubt trying to wish me away magically. “Yeesh, MJ—you don’t….. just…. say things like that. Out loud. In public. At an engagement party. Where you are the maid of honor.”

I faced him to make a counterpoint, when his face stopped me. More like…the way his hand was pulling at his hair. Peter’s eyes were still pinched closed. And his whole face seemed tense, with a little sweat bead going on at his brow.

What the hell—was he trying to wish me away magically or was he conjuring up accompanying images to my words?

My inner science nerd popped out, wanting to test my new thesis. I leaned in closer and whispered quietly into his ear:

“And no blowjobs. None. You know what I'm talking about…none of those sloppy backroom jobs where they’re just humming, and slobbering all over your cock, and making those slurpy noises….”

His eyes flew open like saucers as I took one of his hands and had him grip my hair. 

“And I’m just like...” I slacked my jaw open while bobbing my head and winking at him.

“And you’re just like…” I began to push his hand hard against my head to make me bob faster-

He stopped his hand mid-bob, and asked quietly: “When did it morph from Ned and an exotic dancer to you and me in your mind?”

“What?” I asked in confusion.

A knowing grin cracked open on his face. “You said you and I were doing those God-forsaken things.”

I paused, mentally going back over the last ten seconds. “No, I didn’t! And if I did, I was just getting into character as the said ‘champagne room employee.’”

He cracked up. “You liar! You got too caught up into whatever that was!”

I gasped dramatically, like my honor was at stake while pointing down to his lap. “OH, Who’s the one who’s still gripping my hair like his life depends upon it while sporting a giant boner?”

He gripped harder: “So much for being as smooth as a Ken Doll down there….GIANT. Your words, not mine.”

“Uh, guys?”

Ned’s soft-spoken voice cut through the sudden silence. We both looked over to find Betty and him leaning on the opened restaurant door.

“Hey! It’s the happy couple,” I blurted out, feeling Peter’s grip loosen in my hair.

“Hey, yourself. “ Ned put his head down while scratching his nose. “So, listen, you two. I am not sure if you both noticed,” he said while pointing along the storefront,” but the door and storefront here are all made of see-through glass. Which, also, happen to not be sound-proof.”

Peter and I slowly looked inside, noticing all the attention that was focused in our direction.

And….” looking behind him now,” I’m sure, along with Betty and I, the rest of the ENGAGEMENT party is wondering why the Best Man and Maid of Honor are simulating oral sex about six inches away from where my Nanay Analyn is getting some fresh air.”

I looked past Peter to notice an elderly woman parked right next to us in her wheel chair. Whatever she witnessed, she didn’t seem impressed. OR traumatized. 

So there was that.

“Oh stop clutching your pearls, you two procreating fornicators. There was clearly no-mouth-to-crotch contact whatsoever. At all. Like I was at least 12 inches away from his crotch throughout the whole bobbing.” 

“Wrong answer, MJ, “ Betty yelled-whispered.

“Bad, bad answer,” Peter agreed, like the kiss ass he always was. He turned towards Nana. 

“Hey, Grandma. It’s me, Peter. Nice to see you again,” he said in a ridiculously innocent voice while he untangled his hand from my hair. He began to extend her his hand to shake when Ned stopped him.

“Don’t touch my Nanay with that hand,” Ned practically yelled. Peter pulled it away just as quickly.

“Okay, “ Peter said, as I watched him morph back into bland, grandma-friendly Peter Parker. “MJ and I were just trying to get the details nailed down—“

“Wrong choice of words,” Betty whispered, still shaking her head. 

Peter nodded and tried again.

“---MJ and I were just trying to get the details hammered down…” Peter caught himself mid-sentence. “Nope, no hammering. MJ and I were just trying to figure out the details of our respective bachelor-bachelorette parties.”

He turned towards me with a poker face, “I think we made some good progress, MJ. Why don’t we continue this talk later?” He nodded at me to play along as if I were capable of normal social interaction. 

Which I wasn’t, but I gave it a shot. “Yes, we can continue this talk later. Like after dessert?”

“No, no,no…don’t continue this later, Peter,” Ned interjected. “I don’t need to bail you out of jail for lewd public acts. How about you just call her—“

“Phone sex,” Betty whispered.

Ned nodded. “Okay, just text her.—“

“Sexting,” Betty added, her head down this time.

“Fine,” Ned answered impatiently.”Write her a letter. Send it by mail, have a pigeon deliver it; whatever, just stay away from eachother until the wedding, okay? We don’t need any party negotiations between you guys if it means you act like barn animals in the springtime.”

Jesus, they were dramatic. I rolled my eyes and attempted to show I was just as capable as Peter at acting civilized.

“You guys, relax. We got this, we’re going to give you guys the best parties ever,” I turned to Peter and mirrored his sentiments. “Good progress today, Peter. It was nice to see you again. We’ll finalize our respective party plans in a responsible, completely legal way at a future time that does not involve these two almost-married old foggies.” I looked back at Ned and Betty triumphantly, like I deserved a medal for not dry-humping Peter’s leg while speaking to him.

“Yes, good plan,” he answered while standing up and walking away from us in a hurry. “Just gonna get some air,” he called out while adjusting his jeans in the front.


	2. Aunt May and Chakras

I knocked on his door, feeling like a dumb teenager all over again. Peter opened up, looking freshly showered. His hair was wet, those sweats were hanging low on the hip bones, and his tightie-whitie shirt was begging me to read his ab muscles like a Braille sign.

Clit tease.

He shook his head with a grin, no doubt enjoying my slow perusal. “Welcome to my Den of Sin, Jones.” He appraised me in kind. “ You clean up nicely.”

“Oh, there’s nothing clean about me and you know it.” I clicked my tongue and winked as I pushed a bottle of wine into his chest. “And that Den of Sin line has not aged well, moocher.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I just graduated and I’m over 100,000 dollars in debt. If May offered to let me stay here rent-free for the summer, who am I to argue?”

“I’m milking the same setup for as long as I can myself.” I pointed at the apron peeking out of my purse. “My newly minted diploma nabbed me this really promising career as ‘cocktail waitress’ at a local dive bar next to my parents home.”

Cocky-smile Peter melted into Sweet-smile Peter-that was the boy I was more familiar with from school. “Adulting is overrated, isn’t it.”

He wasn’t kidding. 

I pointed at the bottle of wine I just gave him. “Compliments of my workplace and their horrible inventory maintenance.” I walked into their apartment, glancing back at him. “ And that’s strictly for May, not you. We all know what a drunk little tramp you become at social gatherings like last week.” 

I looked around the tiny little living room for the first time in about five years. It looked completely the same. Modest, neat – but homey.

There was a brief moment in time when Ned and Peter recruited me into their Super-Nerd Afterschool Club of 2 and I spent almost every afternoon in this apartment. That brief moment began right before the summer of my junior year. My intellectual stock had just risen sharply, thanks to being crowned the new Academic Decathlon Captain. Suddenly, I was the Nerd Belle of the Ball, getting invitations left and right from all the brainiacs to group study with them for the impending SATs that fall. To the surprise of many, the only invitation that I accepted readily was that of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. The reason was simple, really: just as my academic star was rising, Peter’s star was rising in my eyes as well.

It all started with the Homecoming Dance that year, where I watched in mortifying arousal as wee-little Peter slinked onto the dance floor with a senior girl who towered over him and slipped her the tongue during a slow dance. 

Seeing him navigate that social and romantic landscape with such ease shook me to the core…..of my core.

Suddenly, everything he did or said was on my radar. I’d already known that he had great hair; but now, it had come to my attention that if hair could have erections, Peter’s would have a constant raging one. No matter how much he tried to tame and comb it, that front tuft of hair was always sporting wood in various directions. 

I didn’t know if I wanted to brush it down with my hand or give it a good pull.

I found myself laughing more at his jokes, and wondering if he was still hung up on his last crush from the previous semester. When he was reaching for a book in the library one day, I caught the brief moment when his shirt rode up and showed off some glorious V Line cleavage. Who knew this kid was packing so much underneath those ill-fitting jeans?

Everything about him was driving me crazy, so I zeroed in on Peter Parker exclusively for SAT prep. My thinking was: why not combine studying with rounding a couple bases since I was currently stalled on first?

It didn’t quite work out that way though. Sadie Hawkins came and went with not so much as a kiss from that little shit, and SAT tests happened two weeks after that. There were no more excuses for stopping by the Parker household anymore.

“Ned thinks I should apologize to you for acting like an idiot the other night,” he said, lulling me out of my memories. “I told him that you’d see it as a sign of weakness in our negotiations.” He had his hands in his sweats now, looking a little younger and softer than a minute ago.

“Pshhh. I’m not sorry. Are you kidding me? “ I looked at him like he was from another planet. “They should be thanking us. We gave both families something to finally rally around. You know that after the party, every one of them was like, “ Sure, our kids messed up a little. But at least they didn’t end up like those turds MJ and Peter, mooching off their parents with their useless degrees and dry kama sutra-ing on a public bench.”

Peter mulled over my defense with a smirk and nodded. “You’ve got a point. It’s like we don’t even have to buy them a gift now. Although,” he said conspiratorially while nudging me, “I think we just got caught up by the raw, sexual power and animal magnetism emanating from Ned and Betty during the whole celebration.”

Ned and Betty were definitely uptight messes at the party. But even under normal circumstances, those two were the most proper, softest, sweetest jelly rolls that were ever joined. Which was why it was hard to imagine them doing anything at all that involved nudity. 

“Do you think Ned impregnated her while wearing his Indiana Jones hat and an aloha shirt, “I asked. “ Cause I would bet money that he did.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to seriously figure out the answer to that question. And then they furrowed some more, as if he was mentally recreating the actual sex scene, the little perv: “All that I’m coming up with visually is Betty getting knocked up by a Jungle Cruise employee at Disneyland.”

We both started laughing as he continued. “We’re such dicks, Jones. Only Ned and Betty are sweet enough to let us be in their wedding party. Anyone else would have known better. “

“Michelle? Is that you?“

May walked into the room with her yoga-toned arms outstretched. Her hair was longer than I remember it, but she was in her usual May uniform: tank top, flowy-gypsy skirt, and her hot nerd glasses.

My arms outstretched as well with the welcome sight: “Holy hell, May! What sort of deal with the devil did you make to be this fucking hot still? You haven’t aged a day.”

Peter cringed at my potty-mouth, but May didn’t seem to mind. She laughed while giving me a hug. She pulled back and gave me a lookover as well.

“Well, look at you, “ she said as if I were Miss Texas in the flesh. She then glanced over at Peter.

“Peter, Look at her! She’s gorgeous!” She grabbed my hand and spun me around for a 360 view.

“That hair and those legs and cheekbones—you are too much.”

Hmmm…When was the last time May had been out on a date?

May continued:“You’re so lovely, I could eat you right up with a spoon.”

True fact: I came to the Parker household for some action on Peter’s squeaky twin bed. But I stayed for Hot May and all her maternal praising and kindness. That shit never got old for my 16 year-old self. Hell, it was working for my 21 year-old self as well.

“Well, thank you, May.” She led me over to their couch while Peter sat down on a side-chair.

I leaned into her private space, fake-whispering loud enough for Peter to hear.

“And speaking of living with a beautiful, youthful, gorgeous compliment jar like yourself?”

Peter coughed out “kiss ass” behind me but I ignored him.

“ You would think,” I added, throwing my hitchhiking thumb in Peter’s direction,” maybe it would have rubbed off a little on this guy over here.”

“I would hope,” she said with a nod.

I just shook my head in response. “Sadly. It didn’t. Remember that ONE time I asked him to a dance?”

“Yes! Sadie Hawkin’s,” she winked knowingly. “ Eleventh grade.”

“Two hours—two hours I took to get ready for that dance. I pulled the big guns out in a short skirt,“ I kicked out my bare leg for dramatic effect”—put some red lipstick on. Do you think he complimented me once that night?”

May stared over at him accusingly: “Peter….?”

“Not even once, May. I hate to break it to you.”

May gasped, which only spurred me on.

My leg was still suspended in the air as I tapped on it: “These right here, May? Are my tip moneymakers at my job. And I was giving it away for free to Peter that night.” 

I looked down at my leg: “Who wouldn’t look at these?”

May threw up her hands in complete bewilderment: “I’m looking at them right now—they don’t even fit in my field of vision, they’re so long.”

She moved her head dramatically like she had to take them in in panoramic view. Jesus, was she a team player and I loved her for it.

May then looked over at Peter and head-gestured for him to continue the MJ lovefest. He looked at me like I was a shameless bitch, lapping up all the attention.

Which I was, of course.

“They’re very long, MJ. Totally built for moneymaking. I should have paid you 20 bucks per limb that night just to stand next to them.”

I shook my head at May in mock disappointment: “See how withholding he is with me, May? Even to this day?”

I was on the verge of laughing- so was Peter. But May didn’t quite catch on, simply taking in my words with a thoughtful nod.

“It’s his chakras.”

I looked over at Peter in confusion. He gave me a code-red alert expression and slashed a finger across his neck. 

Aunt May was a power-yoga-ing milf and a beloved preschool teacher, for sure. But she also had a hippy-dippy, new-age side to her too. Which meant whatever was coming next was going to be epic and mortifying for Peter.

“I’m all ears.”

May gave me a small smile before turning towards him: “Peter is so sweet and giving and thoughtful..”

I snorted, but tried to cover it with a cough.

“And such a handsome young man….”

May looked at me now, encouragingly. 

Oh. It was my turn to reciprocate praise. 

The things that you learn to do in a loving household.

“Yes! So, so handsome. It’s Like Michelangelo sculpted that jawline himself.” I turned to Peter. “And I bet my ability to emote so freely is a sign my chakras are doing just fine.”

“Everything is a competition for you,” Peter whispered shaking his head with a smirk. 

May was ignoring our side-squabble though, no doubt lost in her own world of parental regret.

“It’s just that…sometimes Peter’s chakras get a little…” She paused and fidgeted a little with her hands like she was handling an invisible Rubik’s Cube.

“Clogged? Pinched,” I offered.

“Shut down...especially in his root and sacral chakras,” she answered with a nod, as if we had any clue what she was talking about. “That’s due to his introverted and cautious tendencies. It really plugs up his creativity and spontaneity in those energy centers .” She started to make counter-clock wise movements with her hand around his navel and lap area.

My mouth flew open as I looked over at Peter. Was his own aunt saying his dick was clogged? I couldn’t stop the howl of laughter that came out.

Peter leaned over and gently put May’s hand back on her lap. “I think we got the picture, Mom.”

Mom now? Huh. 

She took the cue and turned back towards me.

“And so, when I hear your story of the night of Sadie Hawkins, and his lack of engagement, I think it’s yet another sign of those two lower chakras,” her hand warring with itself to either stay on her lap or go back to Peter’s clogged groin region, ” being too closed off.” 

I wanted to laugh and throw an accusing finger in Peter’s direction and yell “Ha!” But May seemed to take this chakra stuff seriously and I thought I should make her feel better about her nephew’s uptightness.

“May I be frank with you, May?”

“Of course, “ she said encouragingly, focusing on me now.

“I think he’s unclogged a little since high school, but society keeps trying to clog him back up.”

May gave me a confused look.

“Take, for instance, Ned’s engagement party. We’re both the Best Man and Maid of Honor.”

“Yes, I know,” she said approvingly.

“Well, one of our sacred duties is to figure out our respective bachelor and bachelorette parties, right? We need to lay the respective ground rules for each. We’re like lawyers, pleading our cases for our clients, basically.”

“Which are Ned and Betty,” May piped in.

“Exactly. So here’s the thing, May. I wasn’t born yesterday”

Her Yoga-arms raised up in agreement. “Neither was I.”

I glanced over at Peter, who looked petrified as to where this was going. “And if a guy doesn’t want to buy the cow when he’s getting the milk for free, what guy buys the milk just to LOOK at it, at say….a strip club? If you’re paying for milk, you want a taste, am I right?”

May thought for a bit before continuing. “Yes. Good point. “ Then she raised her finger in the air: “But wait---milk is sex, right?”

I could see Peter just folding into himself with the subject material at hand.

“Yes. Any form of penetration basically—tongue, genital…” I looked at Peter pointedly: “Digital.”

“Gotcha,” May answered.

I was half expecting to find Peter melted into a puddle on the floor at this point, but I wasn’t finished.

“And trust me, May. This is a necessary but explicit conversation we are having at the party. It’s a “How the Sausage Gets Made” sort of conversation that is not for the faint at heart, because you know….an impending marriage is at stake.” 

May patted my knee: “Oh, I trust you Michelle, and you’re right. Yes….it’s only responsible that you talk about the sausage.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. I made May talk about sausage in front of Peter Parker and it was having the same effect on him that salt would on a snail.

I winked at Peter, a sort of promise that there was still more to come.

“So May, we’re talking sausage making processes, we’re talking about digital penetration and how that’s not okay with Betty.”

“I agree with Betty,” May chimed in before I continued.

“And because my chakras are so free-flowing and open, like the Colorado River, I’m like just putting it all out there. And you know what, May? Peter was right there with me. Talking about the sausage that needed to be talked about.”

She patted Peter’s knee. “Good. Good….It needed to be talked about.”

“But the man, May. The man tried to stop Peter from talking so freely about sausage. The man tried to embarrass him, and make him feel shame for having a perfectly natural conversation about bodies and all the things that can be done with them.”

May looked confused. “The man. Do you mean like society? Like the ruling patriarchal structures?”

I shook my head. “No. I meant Mr. Leeds. But sure, patriarchy works too.”

Peter tried to pipe in: “You know, Michelle. I need to be somewhere soon, maybe we could just finish this conversation somewhere else—“

I cut him off though and kept talking to May: “So we move our conversation outside, because all those clogged, patriarchial chakras aren’t healthy to be around when you’re trying to keep your energy centers open.”

“Of course, ” May agreed.

“And so we get back to talking sausage shop. And Peter is free-flowing, May. Just riffing and being so open…”

“Good.”

“And because he’s so open and engaging at this point, I felt it was really important to MODEL some of the behaviors that we were discussing so we had a clear understanding of what we were talking about.”

I looked over at Peter, opened my mouth slightly, and bobbed my head. May was too busy jumping on the newest revelation though to notice.

“Very smart, Michelle. Modeling is a very important teaching strategy that I use with my preschoolers as well.”

“But then a funny thing happened along the way, May. From Peter, I began to detect a sort of playfulness with this modeling strategy. Peter was getting very creative and clever with his…expressions and demonstrations.”

“He’s always been clever,” May said proudly.

“He has. And because we were having this creative back-and-forth, I really wanted us to explore that further.” I put my hands up like cop just directed me to: “FROM a purely creative standpoint of course.”

“Of course,” May repeated, as if I was making any sense at all. “You were acting on your intuition, Michelle. So many of us feel that twinge of intuition—“

“It was definitely more than a twinge,” I injected, smiling at Peter.

“-- and miss a great moment because we didn’t take the opportunity to act upon that twinge.” She nodded slowly with a faraway look, no doubt thinking of some hot twinge she didn’t act upon herself either.

“So here I am---right, May? Like your friendly neighborhood plumber, just taking a plunger to Peter’s clogged-up chakra and making great progress too, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t doubt you for a second,” May offered up.

“And guess what happened next? Ned stopped us dead in our tracks. Completely stopped our creative flow for ‘public safety reasons.’” I used finger quote marks on those last three words for emphasis.

May shook her head in disappointment. “The Man. Again.”

“Again, indeed. As if WE were the ones who got knocked up in 2018 when birth control methods are easily accessible and effective. BUT…I’m telling you, May. Peter was free-flowing that night. He has it in him to open up those energy centers. He just needs the right….stimulation.”

I ventured a look over at Peter. And if looks could kill….

May just sat quietly for a minute though before she piped up again. “You know, Michelle. I may be the teacher amongst the three of us. But I feel like the student right now. I feel like, YOU could teach me a lot of things about acting in the moment, and keeping that energy flowing without any restraint.”

I winked in her direction. “Oh, May, I bet I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Okay, I'm breaking this up……we’re done.” Peter stood up. “We’ve got plans to make for Betty and Ned, Mom. I gotta notepad and pen in my room, MJ. We can continue the chakra therapy later.” He grabbed my hand and led me the couple steps over to his bedroom. 

“Very proactive, Peter,” May called out approvingly. “ Good job. And I’m not finished with you yet, Michelle. Let’s do lunch sometime.”

“Or Sunday brunch with mimosas, “I offered, my eyes widening in anticipation of having a hot mom-fake daughter breakfast with May herself.

May clapped her hands and her eyes widened even more than mine: “Happy Hour!”

“Yes!”

Peter pulled me into his room, closed the door, and gave me a hardened look. “Don’t mess with May like that. She adores you.”

My face was all righteous indignation: “Oh my god, I adore her back. I want her to be my forever aunt.” I plopped on his bed and scooted back until my head landed on his freshly laundered pillow. “ I just knew I had to do something drastic to get you into bed with the door closed. I don’t have the SAT as an excuse anymore.”

A slow smile bloomed across his face.


	3. Raised By Wolves

Peter pulled me into his room, closed the door, and gave me a hardened look. “Don’t mess with May like that. She adores you.”

My face was all righteous indignation: “Oh my god, I adore her back. I want her to be my forever aunt.” I plopped on his bed and scooted back until my head landed on his freshly laundered pillow. “ I just knew I had to do something drastic to get you into bed with the door closed. I don’t have the SAT as an excuse anymore.”

A slow smile bloomed across his face.

xxxxxx

 

“MJ…if you think I’m falling for THAT again, you’re mistaken. With you, there’s always the lure---followed by a hook.”

Of course, Peter said all that while slinking onto the bed with me. He laid down on his side, propping up his head on one hand. I stayed put on my back, looking up at him.

“What do you mean, falling for THAT? What’s THAT? Why are you falling? Why do I have a fishing rod when I’m a vegetarian?”

He looked at me dubiously. “Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’d throw me a breadcrumb, I’d bend over to pick it up, and then you’d kick me in the ass.”

I made a face at him. “Stop with your half-baked metaphors and explain yourself.” I poked him in the rib.” I want specifics of my luring-you-into-ruin too because all I remember is you ignoring me for most of high school.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Yes, ignoring you was one coping strategy I adopted after years of abuse. So was arguing with you on every little thing to get you to stand down. And you want specifics? How about the first day of high school at the designated band table in the cafeteria?”

Oh shit. I knew where this was going.

“You offered me a seat next to you---only to then declare that I should be nicknamed ‘Keebs” while handing me a Keebler Cookie package to the delight and laughter of the upper classmen.”

Peter was classy enough to leave out the fact that when I handed the bag to him, I also noted that the elf on the package was a picture of his taller, smaller-eared brother. That had all the junior trumpet section in stitches.

“Oh, excuse me for supplying you with the proper nutrition so you could grow into your prominent features.” I pinched his ear lobe lightly. 

“Good work, MJ,” I murmured, taking full credit for the fact his head had finally caught up with his ears. 

“Always the spin doctor,” he said shaking his head. “You loved humiliating me publicly.”

“Never,” I disagreed. “That was just me pulling your pigtails, with a little Jones twist on top. And how weak is your argument if the only example you can think of is the first day of high school??”

“TENTH GRADE,” he continued, putting the finger of judgement in my face yet again. 

“ART CLASS. You asked to partner up with me for the portrait assignment. By then, I should have realized that any invitation you offered was a setup. But you had that hair and that smile and that ---“

“Rack?” I interjected hopefully. “Because by tenth grade, I finally grew a pair. They should take priority over my teeth.” 

Now, were they a humble pair? Sure. But they still looked great free-floating in the thin tshirts I favored back then. And today, at this very moment, for that matter.

He paused, looking like he wanted to laugh. “I was going to say eyes, if that’s okay with you.”

“Not really,” I shot back. “Pretty anti-climatic, if you ask me, compared to a rack.”

“Stop talking about your rack so loudly,” Peter scolded, no doubt knowing May was listening in with her owl ears. 

“Why must you constantly body-shame me, Peter Parker,” I answered loudly, no owl ears required. “Why must I talk about my modest breasts in a shameful whisper?”

I looked down at my chest, while Peter’s eyes followed. “ See, I kept eating my spinach, and they finally came out to play. Good work, MJ,” I repeated, patting them lightly. Glancing up, I expected to see him smirking. But he wasn’t looking at my face at all-his eyes were laser-focused on my chest now. 

“I didn’t mean to oversell them, “ I said more quietly. “It’s not like you’ll see them grow in real time because I had a green juice earlier.”

There was the smirk I was looking for. But so was May’s little feet padding around barefoot on the wood floors outside the bedroom. I needed to back this up a little into PG territory again.

“Okay…getting back to your tale of woe, Peter. My hair and teeth forced you against your will to portrait-partner with me, yada, yada, yada….”

Peter picked it up from there: “Yes, when you used your sweet, fake smile to lure me into a partnership, I thought maybe you were trying to bury the hatchet. I didn’t realize the hatchet would be buried in my back yet again.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “You and your flair for the dramatic. How were you not in drama club instead of robotics?” That only spurred him on more.

“Remember the finished portrait you presented to the class,” he asked accusingly, “ with me standing right next to you?”

I did. I had drawn an amazing likeness of Kermit the Frog instead. When the teacher called me out on it, I told her the likeness was accurate since both subjects had no lips and scrawny legs. It got a big laugh. 

“Oh, sure, make me the bad guy while you play the victim. But you drew me as the Jolly Green Giant yourself for that same assignment,” I countered. ”That got a laugh from the class too, you know.”

Not nearly as big a laugh as my Kermit portrait, mind you, but now was not the time to point that out.

Peter just shook his head in response for a long pause: “I was really proud of my sketch of you, you know. It was the first time I tried to do a good job in there so I’d do you justice. But I wasn’t going to share it after that little stunt of yours. So I scribbled the Jolly Green Giant instead. “

“Liar….” I shot back lamely.

He got up from the bed, murmuring about how clueless I was. He dug through his closet in silence for a couple of minutes while I watched him. He always got a little pouty bottom lip when he was annoyed-it was cute.

“Here, “ He said all self-righteously as he bounced back onto the bed, rifling through an artist drawing pad until he found the desired content.

He held up the rendering of my high school self—only better. My lips looked fuller, my mane was having the best hair day ever. My expression was come-hithery too…

“Jesus, Parker, you drew me with DTF eyes and cleavage.” I giggled out. 

He threw a hand up like he was swearing under oath in court. “Hey, I just drew what you were giving me that day. I made no personal judgements on the fact that you couldn’t control the desire in your eyes while I drew you.”

He was baiting me, but I was still stuck on the drawing.

“This is actually really good. I’m impressed.” I studied his face for a lingering moment. Was that how he saw me back then? It certainly wasn’t how I saw myself. 

“Now imagine if THAT had been your original reaction to partnering with me, instead of the emasculating direction you chose.”

I did imagine it for a second; and seeing how we got along today, Peter would have probably put a baby in me faster than anyone could say “get MJ on some birth control.” So maybe it was for the best.

“ Pa-tay-toe, Pa-taw-toe. You call it emasculation. I called it flirting. God, you were really bad at picking up on my social cues in high school.”

He walloped then, laying on his back as he did. “No, if anything, those were cues of your anti-social behavior. I swear to God, when we went to Sadie Hawkins, I was so sure you were going to pull a prom move like that movie Carrie and pour pig blood on me at some point from the rafters. I kept looking behind me and above me, just waiting for you to do something shitty.”

My mind’s eye traveled back to that disaster of a date. Peter had been preoccupied all night, and nervous too. I even caught him smelling the cup of punch I brought him at one point.

“Was I really that horrible?”

He started out shaking his head, then thought better of it and nodded.

“Even worse than you’re just now realizing.”

That earned a genuine cackle from me. We both couldn’t fit comfortably on the twin bed on our backs, so I moved to my side and hooked one of my legs in between his – solely for the purpose of anchoring my balance of course. His eyes traveled down to our intertwined legs, and he smiled at me. His arm burrowed under me and wrapped around my waist. For further balancing purposes, I’m sure.

“I'm sorry. For everything, basically. It’s not all my fault, really. I was raised by wolves.”

“You were not, MJ. You introduced me to your parents senior year at the Science Fair.”

“They don’t count,” I answered dismissively. “They’re like lumpy bowls of oatmeal who I only saw at dinner time after work. And look at how you were properly socialized by May. And you even had your hot-not-my-dad to navigate you in your teen years.”

He gave me a suspicious look. “Do you still have a crush on Stark? Put it back in your pants already, geesh.”

Touchy, touchy.

“Did I want to gnaw on his douchey little chin strip when I was younger? Yes. But that’s neither here nor there.”

Peter’s nose was still crinkled up in disaste. 

“I’m just saying you have had better….role models to guide you along the way. Role models to nurture you…..while doing it all really hotly.”

The dry heave noises started to accompany the nose crinkle. I started to absentmindedly play with the drawstring poking out of the waist of his sweatpants. That settled him down a little.

“And I still can’t believe Betty had the terrible judgement to pick me as her Maid of Honor, God bless her. But given how I messed up her engagement party, I really want to make it up to her and be a normal, proper bridesmaid who does right by her. You know?”

“Oh…..we’re talking the bachelor and bachelorette parties now?”

I shrugged. “Might as well.”

“Okay, shoot. I think we can handle this pretty easily, right?”

I hoped as much.

I let out a drawn breath. “Okay. Along with no finger banging- no blow jobs. In fact, keep all body parts out of any crevices at all times. No lap dances. No anal play of any sort with aids of any type, including butt plugs….

“You’re worried about butt plugs,” he asked in confusion. But I couldn’t bother stopping-I needed to steamroll through this to get it all out.

“No VIP room. In fact, what the hell, let me just come out and say it: Betty wants you guys to forgo the strip club all together. She’s hoping you guys can play like….golf. “

Peter’s eyes rolled back. And back and back and back—and still the eye-rolling was not done.

“MJ. Look, I’m here to help you out as much as I can. But that’s an unrealistic request. Ned is all of twenty-one years old---21!”

I cringed. “I know, I know.”

“He’s not only gaining a wife, but a baby! Like he’s going to be married with a kid in no time flat. If he asked me to throw him a good sending-off party, and he did, I’m not taking him…. Golfing.”

“But Betty’s getting tied down too at a young age—and she’s carrying the baby on top of it! She said she’s just feeling vulnerable right now.”

Peter could tell I was getting a little testy and patted my waist softly. “You know that Ned is as good a guy as you could ask for Betty, right? He’s never even been to a strip club. If we go this one time,it’s not going to be the end of the world. The most important thing I do as Best Man is plan the bachelor party. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get out of hand or anything, okay?”

His reassuring voice was making perfectly sound arguments, but I kept thinking about how I promised Betty I’d bring it on home for her.

“Honestly, Parker, the most important thing for you as Best Man is to get the groom to the chapel on time. And that’s not going to happen if they break up before that can happen. Why have him go to an outdated, premarital ritual that is only designed to undermine the institution of marriage and objectify women unfairly?”

He just shook his head. “Oh loosen up your newly acquired NOW buttons, MJ. I remember how you proudly identified as post-feminist throughout high school so spare me these second wave arguments you would have mocked a couple years ago.”

I feigned indignation, but he was right. Who knew he was even listening to all my rants in History and English back then?

“ This is America, Jones. The land of the home and the free and the brave and the bachelor party. I’m taking my boy out for one last night of freedom, I will make sure no improper contact happens out of respect for you and Betty, but that’s as far as I’m compromising.”

I didn’t like that compromise. I wasn’t even sure why. I just felt like I was losing vaguely to someone I didn’t like to lose to. But all his buttons talk got me thinking about how to come out on top. I mounted him forcefully to get his attention. 

And also, because I just wanted to mount him.

“Maybe I WILL loosen my buttons, Peter. Maybe Betty will want to loosen all her buttons too, you know? It’s not like she’s even showing right now, her boobs are the only thing that’ve grown…“I thought for a second about that, ”which…honestly, would be all the more reason for her to unbutton her buttons…” 

“What,” Peter asked suspiciously. “I said loosen YOUR buttons. But, like, in a metaphorical sort of way—“

I cut him off, putting a finger to his mouth, “Shhh. It’s fine. You go and have your lame little party with Ned and the boys with all your butt plugs and anal beads-have at it.”

“Why do you keep on bringing up butt plugs,” Peter inquired incredulously. 

“That’s fine, it’s your thing. I’m not judging.”

“No, it’s not my thing,” he protested.

“Because it only leaves me with all the freedom to put together the bachelorette party of the fucking century. See you around, Parker. I have a party to plan.” I gave him a quick kiss on the lips and dismounted him with a wink.


	4. Peter Picked A Peck of  Poppers

“They need to be taught a lesson.” I looked over at Betty and Liz expectantly. Betty’s sister Barbara was actually writing down that sentence in quotes after offering to take the “minutes” for our first official wedding reception-slash-bachelorette party meeting. We were a rag-tag little group, but it was the best Betty could muster up for a last minute bridal line. 

Betty and I had been casual-yet-mismatched friends throughout high school; she was very sweet and proper, and I had the mind and mouth of a dirty 13-year-old boy. But I took up her offer to be dormmates when we headed to the same college, and the rest was bestie history.

Liz’s entrance into our friendship circle was more roundabout. Two years our senior at Midtown, she was all beauty and poise and brains and intimidating as hell to me. But not to Peter apparently, cause she was the lucky bitch he kissed at the homecoming dance that made me take notice. She went off to college soon after, and that was the last I heard of her until we bumped into one another on campus last year. She was there to start her graduate studies, while Betty and I were still finishing up our undergraduate programs. 

Would we all have naturally gravitated towards one another if we hadn’t had the Midtown connection? Probably not, but sometimes a shared history can give you friends that you didn’t realize you needed. 

Like Liz—she was a big sister type who offered basic life skills advice such as, “No, Michelle, you shouldn’t stuff a banana in that guy’s exhaust pipe for lying because it could lead to serious jail time.” 

I always appreciated her free legal advice. 

Or Betty—she was like the helicopter mother I never had, squirting sanitizer on my hands constantly while in public and celebrating my half-birthday with halved-cupcakes.

Who even knew what their half-birthday was before Pinterest was invented for hovering mothers?

And what did I contribute? I always pilfered alcohol and food from every waitressing job I had. These bitches were living off an endless wine and jalapeno popper supply thanks to me.

And I was about to supply them with an even more exciting opportunity.

“I’m serious….they need to be taught a lesson.” I glanced over at Big Sis. “Yo, my every utterance doesn’t need to be saved for posterity, Barb. Let’s limit the notes to dates and times and locations, okay?”

Barbs gave me an uncommitted shrug. My focus went back to the two in need of persuasion.

“There is NO way in hell we settle for a spa day and a fondue dinner at the Melting Pot, eating cheese-covered-everything like 80 year old women, when those little shits are heading straight to a strip club for a night full of debauchery. AmIrite, ladies?”

Both of them still didn’t say a word. Betty glanced over at Liz before breaking the silence. “Look, MJ. We get it. You want to bang Peter.”

I glanced over at Barb. “Does she kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Barb was too busy transcribing what I’d just said to answer. 

I glanced back at Betty with all the indignation I could muster. “Oh, really? I’m dying to bang Peter? How do you know that, Sherlock?”

Betty rolled her eyes slightly. “Because you said ‘I would totally bang Peter’ like a million times to me our senior year in high school.”

“And you gave him a phantom blow job at her engagement party,” Liz added. I turned and shh’d her and her Class-Pet tendencies.

Big Sis’s rapid hand scribbling movements got my attention before I could lay into Liz though.  
.  
“Barb…seriously, don’t write that down about the banging and the ghost sex, Jesus.” I glanced back at Betty. “ And I did not say that I wanted to bang Peter… a million times.”

Betty started using finger math in front of us to prove me wrong. 

Try dictating that, Barb.

“Every Friday you said you wanted to bang Peter because that was pizza day and you liked how he quote-unquote ‘deep throated it.’” She turned to Liz. “I didn’t understand the connotations of that either back then cause….pizza?”

I gave her a warning look: “Oh shut it, you---acting like you’re Mary about to have a virgin birth over there.”

Betty laughed and patted my shoulders like everything that fell out of my mouth was adorable.

Truly helicoptery.

 

But she wasn’t done yet—she still had 8 fingers to go.

“Whenever Peter touched his hair. Whenever he touched his neck. Whenever he’d put his pen in his mouth. Whenever he wore sweats cause you said it made his ass ‘pop’—“

And yes, Barb was writing “pop” in quotations in real time.

“Oh my God.. It was a joke when I said all those things about banging. It’s like a… figure of speech.”

Liz furrowed her eyebrows. “For what? Porking?”

They both started laughing at that.

Betty quieted down and started using her CW mom voice with me. Apparently Peter wasn’t the only one who was getting a lesson.

“I’m just saying, you’re attracted to Peter and have been for a long time. He’s in the same boat. But neither of you will be the first to do anything about it because you’re both prideful and stubborn. So you two play these weird little fighting and dare games where you try to one up each other all the time to get some of your frustrations out. I mean, this has been going on since high school.”

“This has nothing to do with Peter and me,” I insisted.” This is totally about YOU and me wanting to defend your honor.”

Spoken like a true Bravehart. Someone get me some blue facepaint.

Liz turned to Betty. “I told you this was going to happen if you picked them for Best Man and Maid of Honor.”

Betty just did a “What can you do?” shrug in response. 

E tu, Betty?

I focused on Liz for a second. “You weren’t even around us really in high school, Liz. Don’t act like you heard me saying I wanted to bang him too.”

Liz stared at me like I was a simpleton. “In decathlon I had to separate you two several times because of your constant squabbling, are you kidding me? And I may have not heard you say you wanted to bang him. But do you remember what leaped out of your mouth when Peter came in eating a bag of Taco-flavored Doritos, and then dropped his jeans and swam in his boxer-briefs in the motel pool the night before nationals?”

As a matter of fact, I did….but Liz beat me to the punch.

“You yelled out loudly that Peter just made your taco pop.” Liz looked at Betty. “Frankly, I’ve never had the stomach to unpack the full connotation of that phrase myself.”

Shit, did I have a thing for him earlier than I even remembered? Betty took my hand, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“I get there’s chemistry there with Peter, MJ. But I’ve got this sciatica nerve thing going on right now and a wedding to plan. I can’t keep up with another round of Peter and Michelle’s Choose-Their-Own-Clusterfuck-Adventures with a month to go on the nuptials. I need to you to behave.”

I felt slightly affronted by their suspicions. “Betty. Did you or did you not tell me to discourage a strip club outing? And did you not agree that I was allowed to use any means necessary?”

She admitted as much.

“So…if Peter is not budging, and I have a full-proof plan to stop him and his lame party in his tracks, how is this not me doing right by you?”

Liz chimed in before Betty could answer. “So, what’s this grand plan? We take a cue from the boys and move the party to a Chippendales-type of venue?”

I made a face. “Ew, no. There’s no threat for the boys with that option. That would be playing right into their hands really of false equivalencies. They know that having overly tanned guys with mullets tea bagging Betty with their sweaty balls on a folding chair is hardly desirable.”

Betty grimaced. “And I’m still really sensitive to smells. No sunny-side-ups are getting near this face right now.”

I had their attention, so I stretched it out a little bit for dramatic effect.

“The spa day could still be a part of the plan. And if Betty still wants to eat a vat of cheese, we can do the Melting Pot too. But what if we end the outing with a detour to Amateur Night at the Peppermint Piper where my cousin Gabby works?”

For once, Barbs writing hand stilled as she stared open-mouthed at me. Liz got it though.

“Ned would lose it if he knew we signed you up for a stripping contest! And then MJ can go back to the negotiating table with Peter.” Liz shot me a triumphant finger gun. “Very tactical, Mich, but I wouldn’t expect less from you.”

Betty just shook her head though.

“Michelle, I’m pregnant. And I’m not about to slum it onstage and expose my pregnancy belly like that!”

I looked at her still flat stomach. “It won’t get that far, if you don’t want it to. And please, Betty, you’re not even showing at all. And your boobs have grown like two cups in a month, so you have a playmate body right now. How is it slummy to show the world your pregnant beauty? If anything, it’s an act of defiance to all the social expectations that tell you as a pregnant woman that you have to hide in a huge pair of overalls until you pop that baby out. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for the all the women of the world.”

“Always in debate team mode,” Liz giggled out.

“I mean every word I say! And besides, think of how much fun your bambino is going to have on the pole, Betty. It will be like baby’s first carousel ride for her.”

“Him,” Liz corrected. And ever the elder statesman, she shared a few pearls of wisdom as Betty was mulling it all over. “Michelle, this is sorta fucked up, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from you as the Maid of Honor.”

“Thank you, and you’re welcome,” I chimed in.

“No, that wasn’t really a compliment. BUT, I’m giving you bonus points for creativity and originality. And honestly, even if it backfires, it would be one for the memory books. So I’m in. BUT Michelle…”

“Liz….” I parroted back with the same sisterly concern she was sending my way.

“Maybe the best thing you could do is have Peter pop your taco sooner than later.”

“Peter pops my taco? Say that fast 10 times, Liz.”

She ignored me and continued with her advice: “Maybe you could both just pop some manners and good sense into each other so you can actually function rationally from here on out for Betty and Ned. Otherwise, the battle lines here could get easily blurred and put the bride and groom in the crosshairs.”

I mulled over everything that she said very carefully before responding: “So…..what you’re saying is that I’m totally right and we should do this and teach them a lesson, right?”


	5. Ten Pieces, Eight Different Outfits

“Michelle!”

Boy #1 of 4 was calling my name out again. They’d already ordered two rounds; but the last couple times I’d been summoned back, #1 just wanted to make tipsy small talk and play with my hoop earrings. Like he was doing right now.

“No touching, Brock.” I flicked his hand away from my personal space. 

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Brock. Branson. Blaire.” I pointed a finger in his direction. “I went to school with boys like you. And most likely, your name starts with a “B,” you own a grey cable knit sweater that you hang your pricey Cartier pilot glasses on the neck, and you have a sister with an “A” name like…” 

I tapped my chin, thinking up some possibilities while his friends were already snickering.

“Ainsley, Ambrose, or Aubrey?”

“It’s Ames,” one of the friends burst out in laughter. “And he’s Barrett. You’re a goddamned psychic.”

Hardly. Some of these preppy kids just had reliable family profiles.

“Michelle,” Barrett said again, completely ignoring the whole conversation about him. “You know it’s my birthday, right?”

I shot him a finger gun affirmation.

“Yes, Barrett Barkley the Third. I believe this is like the eighth time now, that you’ve told me.”

“Then what are you going to do for me?” He leaned into my personal space now, taking in a whiff of my ponytail that was sitting high on top of my head.

Yeesh.

“What am I going to do? Well, I’ll high-five you for somehow surviving the last year of fratty, blackout, drunken binges and hope that your birthday wish is to get on a donor list for a new liver.” 

His friends started chuckling again, but Barrett just shook his head: “You can do way better than that.” The implication there was thick in his voice.

I shot him a stink eye: “What? You think just because I’m your server, I have to give you a courtesy hand job for not dying in the past 12 months ?”

His eyes popped out at the suggestion. “No, I didn’t mean anything like that….”

“I sure hope not. Because you know what I asked for on my birthday when I was in a Chipotle? An extra side of guacamole. Notice that I didn’t request the cashier to start buttering my muffin right there in line. I mean, there’s hygiene laws, Barrett, that this establishment strictly adheres to…..”

“I get it…I get it,” he blurted out with a smile. “So you’re saying I can ask for a free beer?”

Bingo.

“And I guess a high-five is better than nothing.” 

He playfully held onto my hand after the high-five though. “Michelle,” he said all breathy beer breath. ”Can’t you just do like a… birthday dance or something on the bar---“ he sorta fiddled his free hand around us, looking for any elevated surface that would hold my grown ass.

“Where in the fresh pornhub hell are these ideas even coming from? Did you catch Coyote Ugly on TNT over the weekend? Do I look like Tyra Banks to you? “

This was apparently a dumb thing to say to Barrett, because it only made him focus on the flimsy attire I was in tonight. 

“Kinda,” he said with a dopey smile. “But better.”

“Oh, you beer-goggled charmer, you.” I put my tray in front of my chest and slapped his hand off of mine.

“No touching. Let me get that beer and don’t say I never did anything for you on this blessed day.”

I ran over to the manager, asked her to bring Barrett his beer, told her I was taking 15, and headed over to the table I was trying to get to for the last several minutes-the one with Liz, Betty, Ned and Peter. 

I smiled over at Peter, but he just gave me a nod. His leg was bouncing quickly underneath the table. 

“You are in so much trouble,” Ned called out. He pointed over at Peter. 

“Why am I in trouble,” I asked while I felt Liz lift my jersey in the back playfully. 

“No touching,” I said, while slapping her hand with a smile. I rounded the table and sat in the empty stool next Peter. He just raised an eyebrow at me. 

“Can we talk for a moment,” he said quietly. 

I nodded and led him to a corner table, while Ned yelled out, “I told you you were in trouble!”

We sat down, and I waited for him to say something. But he just sat there.

“Whats up, grumpy,” I finally said. 

He fixed his stare on me for a long beat before answering: “We’ll get to that in a minute. But first….what in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

He was about to break into a smile over my ridiculous getup, so I played along a little.

“Oh my God, this place is run by a bowl of dicks, am I right?” We both laughed for a second before I continued. “It’s Yankees game night. So we have to wear these,” I pointed to the oversized, unbuttoned jersey I was sporting.

“Yeah…..I gathered that,” he said all salty-like. ”I’m talking about the rest of it.” His index finger scanned over my body disapprovingly.

“Well, Dad. We have to wear black articles of clothing underneath that are either low or high cut, depending on where they are placed. If you look at the other girls, they actually put some effort into their ensembles. But me? I stole this bralette from my mom and these old granny panties date back from high school.”

Peter lingered on my black bottoms for a moment before looking up at me. “Oh shit. Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

I stood up in front of him. He sighed impatiently, spinning his index finger in a circle.

“Turn around.”

I did as he said.

“Pull up your jersey.”

I looked behind me. “What in the fifty shades of grey hell are you doing back there, Parker?”

“Oh, just do it,” he hissed in annoyance.

I lifted up my jersey, and stuck my bum out slightly in his direction. “If you peer up any closer than you already are, you’ll be able to see the Great Wall of China on the other side.”

His mood changed abruptly as he grabbed onto the outside of my thighs gently.

“Heyyy! It’s your volleyball panties,” he said with a bright smile. He gave my thighs a light slap. “These take me way back.”

“What is wrong with you two, “Ned yelled out just then, but I was too stuck on what Peter had just said to acknowledge him.

“You recognize them,” I asked in wide-eyed surprise. 

He threw me a “Of course I do, Dummy” look in response. 

“How would I know, you were such a lump a coal around me back then, I wouldn’t assume anything.“ 

He just shook his head.

“I already told you that was strategic, because you were a shrew who fed off the fumes of my humiliation,” he interjected. “But you trash talking anyone else not named Peter on the court while spiking and sliding around in your underwear and knee pads? Sign me up for courtside seating. ”

His face relaxed a little. “I tried to catch all the home games.”

Another outburst came out behind us before I could ask him to elaborate.

“No touching,” Barrett yelled out this time from his table. 

Peter leaned his head back , keeping his hands on my thighs. He was in a mood tonight, and I didn't need him to ruin my tip from that table. So I spoke up before he could.

“It’s okay, Barrett. It’s his birthday, so I’m just giving him a high five.” I looked back at Peter,” with my ass.”

Barrett’s friends cracked up while he threw up his hands: “You didn’t tell me that was an option!”

“It wasn’t.” I pointed at Peter. “ I couldn’t pay this guy to kiss me in high school, I have to take what I can get,” I added. Peter grabbed my hips and guided me swiftly back to my chair.

“Don’t encourage him,” he said in his best school marm voice. “You need to learn how to filter out talk of your ass around sloppy patrons, Jesus.” 

His face was all indignation and frustration. “It’s like I need to write you a list of basic do’s and don’ts for how to act normal in social interactions.”

“Hey, I told you I was raised by wolves,” I reminded him.

“Apparently. “ He straightened my jersey now. Peter paused for a second before buttoning my top button.

“No touching.” I flicked his hand away before he began to button the next one.

He jutted out his chin towards me. “I appreciate the high school throwback, but the thigh-high boots are overkill.” 

Meow. 

Peter wasn’t just in a mood, he was just being a straight bitch tonight. Which only made me laugh more—because snippy Peter was one of the superior Peters.

“You’ve gone from Christian Grey to Head School Master with a paddle to Tim Gunn in a matter of three seconds, Peter. You’re giving me whiplash.”

He just shrugged.

I lifted both my legs onto his lap.

“And as for these boots being overkill. They actually perform a very functional task for me.”

I unzipped one of my boots slightly, exposing the load of wadded bills that had been stuffed in them. Peter’s mouth dropped and he unzipped my other boot’s zipper. More crunched-up bills fell out. He looked up at me in open-mouthed delight.

“I told you my legs were my moneymakers,” I said with a wink. 

“There are fives and twenties in here,” he murmured.

He put my legs down gently and picked up the dropped bills off the floor. My legs went straight back to his lap once he was sitting again. He looked at them before continuing.

“They’re all sweaty,” he said with a chuckle about the bills in his hand.

“I know!” I whispered into his ear so no one else heard. “I have to put them in the dryer after work. There are so many dollar bills in this city with my dna on them right now.”

He cringed while laughing. “That’s kind of gross. “ 

“My leg sweat is the least of your troubles with common currency, trust.”

We sat there for a moment just smiling at eachother. He was so cute with his crinkly- eyed smile. Bitch Peter was nowhere in sight now. Which was fine, because Crinkly Peter might be the most superior of all.

Somewhere behind us, I could hear Ned clear his throat very loudly though. Peter glanced back at him and sighed.

“I do have to talk to you about something, though.”

I straightened my back a little and nodded. “Shoot.”

He stared at me for a beat before starting. 

“The other day at my apartment. Was that another example of a bait and switch with you?”

I looked at him in surprise. “Bait and switch? Wait, I thought I threw breadcrumbs to kick you when you bent over…”

“Same concept. Was it or not?”

“No….why would you even think that?”

“Well,” he started as he tapped his hands on my boots while glancing upwards,” you come over. You are being really sweet, and tangling your legs with mine, and being very forward.”

I couldn’t argue with that description, so I nodded. 

“But then you switched it up suddenly to Betty and Ned and started feeling out my plans and trying to get me to do your bidding.”

I shrugged, because that was vaguely right.

“Then you get on top of me and start grinding me while telling me you have a party to plan and then leave without another word. Haven’t heard from you since.“ 

“Hey, you have my contact information, nothing was stopping you from calling first. And I wasn’t grinding you.”

He looked at me like I was a simpleton.

“And even If I did, it’s not my fault. It’s like my high school hormones bubble up to the surface sometimes and suddenly you and I have magnets in our underwear that I’m only aware of and then Bam! Those magnets lock and load without me even realizing it. “

Usually me talking about our genitals made him laugh, but he was unmoved this time around. 

“Did you come over just to mess with me that day? Can I expect another hammer to drop soon?”

“Or breadcrumbs,” I offered. “Followed by me pushing you into an oven Hansel and Gretel style? Jeez, Louise, Peter, this is a little overwrought, even for you.”

“Well, that’s what I would have thought too, until Ned called me in a panic today and showed me this.”

He pulled up something on his phone to show me.

I made a face at him. “Why are you showing me a Pinterest page.” 

The thought of Peter maintaining a Pinterest account with boards for cupcakes and hairstyles cracked my ass up.

“Look closer.”

My eyesight wasn’t worth shit, so I had to scrunch my eyes. 

“Betty’s Bachelorette Party” was the board’s title. I scanned up at the corner of the screen to see find the profile name:

“BarbQT93”

“Goddamnit, Barb,” I yelped out as I started looking over every saved post for the board. 

There were photos of the spa we were planning on going to, the Melting Pot---AND an exterior shot of the Peppermint Piper. I took his camera and started scrolling downward. 

One post was titled—“ten pieces, eight different outfits.” But the outfits in question consisted of g-strings and nippy tassles and net tops. 

I looked up at Peter: “Throughout that whole meeting she was quiet as a church mouse, and now I know it’s because she was too busy googling color-coordinated pasties!”

Oh, but the board wasn’t done yet. Another post had a quote attributed to me as well: “They need to be taught a lesson---Michelle.” I scrolled down past a couple more pictures of cheese and meat fondue combinations and found yet another quote from me: “Peter and Ned won’t know what hit them.”

“That little psychopath!” I stared open-mouthed Peter. “Barb insisted on taking ‘minutes’ for some damn reason at the meeting, and who knew it was so she could quote it on Pinterest of all the places…”

“So you did say all that? Like this is all a game for you to mess with me again,” he said accusingly. 

I handed his phone back in a huff. “Oh, get it together, Parker. Not all of this is about you. It’s about me. Someone gives me a leadership role, and you know this from Decath, I’m like a bull in a china shop. Those quotes there are ME, rallying my troops.” My index finger was flying now, between poking my own chest and poking his—which could probably take a bullet by the feel of it. “They’re about ME getting my rag-tag team into formation so they can make something of themselves.”

“Stirring speech, General Beyonce Patton. But that leads me to my other question.” He looked behind us to Ned, who gave him an encouraging nod in response. “What the hell happened to a relaxing spa day for Betty; who by the way, has a little bun in the oven?”

“Aw, yes. Yes, she does have a bun in the oven. I’m so happy to hear how you and Ned are concerned about her physical welfare, finally. Because neither of you seemed that worried the last time we talked about that welfare when I told you her concerns. But wait, what did you tell me again?”

I tapped my chin, pretending to recall his exact words:

“I believe you said, ‘This is America, Jones. The land of the home and the free and the brave.’ I moved in closer. “Which, by the way…..Betty is going to really need when she takes off her clothes in front of a horny, male-centric audience in the middle of her second trimester.”

I couldn’t contain my cackle because I would have never thought Prim Betty would have gone along with the proposal. But here we were.

“This isn’t funny, Michelle.” Peter looked aghast at me. He leaned in closer to whisper in my ear. “Look, I can’t go back to Ned and tell him that his bride-to-be is going to be showing off her pregnant goods like that.”

“Oh, oh….okay. But Ned can turn around and pull anal beads out of an exotic dancer’s ass in the Champagne Room and that’s okay.”

Peter threw his hands up. “There have never been, nor will there ever be, any anal beads involved with our bachelor party. Where do you come up with these ideas?” He slowly put his hands on his lap, and sighed. “Let’s figure out a compromise we can both work with, okay?”

“Yes,” I said triumphantly with a clap. I looked over at Liz and gave her a sly thumbs up.

“I found some really cheap flights to Vegas. Both parties could hang out together for the day poolside, then separate at night. We can go do our thing, you guys can do Thunder Down Under. Everyone’s happy and no one’s traumatized.” 

Meh.

“You realize that Thunder Down Under is false a equivalency, right? Amateur night at the Peppermint Piper is the true equivalent. So be careful how you proceed with this compromise, because your virgin-whore complex is showing.”

“That’s not fair, Michelle.” He glanced back at Ned before continuing. “ I’m just trying to handle a very delicate situation here as the best man, okay?”

“I am too,” I exclaimed, tapping my hand on my chest.

“And you know, MJ--well everyone knows, that we both can turn things into a pissing contest really easily.”

“I know.”

“And I feel like you crossed a line here. Like you’ve outdone yourself on this one.”

I straightend up and smiled. “Thank you.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, don’t be so quick to take credit for it. Why in the hell do you want to just sit there and watch your pregnant friend take her clothes off to prove your point about false equivalencies?” He pulled out his accusing finger again to bring home his point. “ And don’t even act like this is all about Betty and Ned. It’s because I didn’t give into your bachelor party demands and now you want to teach me a lesson. That’s fucked up, Michelle.”

I raised my eyebrow indignantly.

“Hey, May herself said that I’m a natural teacher. So learn away from my example. But I’m not going to be sitting in the audience. I’m going to be up on that stage too. Ditto for Liz; and if I go by her freaky ass Pinterest board, even Barb’s up for it. It’s a bachelorette party. That means all for one and one for all on the stripper pole. “

“You’re dancing too,” He said in a lower voice.

I looked at him like he was from Mars. “Of course I am. Like you said, me and Patton and Beyonce don’t lead from the back. We lead from the front.” I thought about that for a second before continuing.” Although, honestly, my ass is more of a showcase than my tits, so technically I’m leading from the front BY WAY of my back I guess--“

Peter pressed a finger against my lips, a silent plea to shut my trap for just one second.

“That’s so fucked up, MJ,” he repeated. But this time in a husky whisper with a laser–focused stare on my volleyball bottoms.


	6. I Don't Know What To Do With You, Michelle Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week and this week were/are filled with a lot of real life work, so I have been unable to update. But I had an idea that I could write up quickly that will fit more like a side chapter here. After Friday, i should be back to a normal writing schedule where I can update on the weekends. Thanks!
> 
> ps: For anyone who hasn't seen it, Gwenyth Paltrow actually did recommend vaginal steam cleaning on her blog Goop, to the dismay of many doctors. And that fact has always cracked me up.

“Come in,” Peter said warmly. 

I walked in a couple steps, looking around. 

“You look nice. Demure, even.’”

I favored him with a little curtsy. 

“ Why thank you. If by demure you mean I’m actually wearing pants in a workplace setting, I guess that counts.”

“Baby steps,” Peter said with a chuckle.

The place? Stark Industries. The reason? 

Peter asked for a temporary truce from Ned and Betty battles to deal with a more pressing matter: “You need a job that doesn’t put a big target on your head. Walking home in your volleyball panties with your boots full of cash? That’s a one way ticket to getting your own “HAVE YOU SEEN ME?” poster plastered across the city.”

I had been looking for another job anyways. So he actually pulled some strings to get me interviewed for a paid, super-sekrit internship of some sort. He said he couldn’t fill me in on the details yet.

“You look really nice….but tall. Very tall.” He frowned slightly looking up at me. “You probably can’t tell from television, but he’s a little on the short side. You may want to lose the heels so you could be more eye-to-eye with him.”

I gave him a weird look. “It’s not like I brought flats in my purse or something. I’m afraid we’re stuck with me in heels.”

“That’s fine then-don’t worry about it,” Peter said while folding his arms. 

“I wasn’t,” I said with a grin. 

“Just remember-Mr. Stark is obviously very busy, “he said like a nervous parent on his kid’s first day of school. 

“Getting three minutes with him is minor miracle. So you need to get straight to the point about your education and experience. All the big highlights, okay? Like try to squeeze it all into a minute and half, so that the other minute and a half can be used for getting acquainted.”

I snorted. “It sounds like you’re settting me up on a date.”

“Well, not quite. But an instant rapport will matter to him.”

“ Why do I even have to be interviewed by Stark himself anyways?”

Peter’s head kinda bobbed side to side. “Well…there’s a particular spot that needs to be filled on a temporary but immediate basis. And honestly, the whole-raised-by-wolves thing gives you a steeliness that’s needed for the position.”

“Okay, “ I said with a shrug. “But, I’ve met Stark before. We’re already acquainted.”

Peter nodded like he didn’t believe me.

“At our Senior Science Fair, remember? He was pulling his not-your-dad duties.”

Whenever Peter or Stark had the chance in public, they always made it clear that Stark was “not his dad.” But then in the same breath, Stark would pat Peter on the back and say weird things, like, “Good work, Son. Sonny. Kid.” It was like you had a front row seat inside Stark’s brain as it tried to process exactly where Peter landed on his social distance and kinship scales.

Half of Stark’s not-his-dad posturing seemed like things he was imitating from watching fake dads on TV as well. My guess was he fashioned himself after Billy Ray Cyrus from Hannah Montana. Both sported soul patches and a lot of back patting.

Maybe Stark had been raised by wolves too.

Peter grimaced slightly. “Well, the science fair was a long time ago, MJ. And he meets with scores of people everyday.”

He gauged my look of disappointment at the thought I hadn’t made much of an impression. 

“But who knows? He may remember you. You’re pretty memorable.”

That cracked me up. 

“Wow, that was the nicest let-down ever, Parker. Now THAT was demure.”

Just then, the doors opened, and Stark breezed in. 

“Okay kid…..we’ve got three minutes before I have to head back up.”

Peter clasped his hands together. “That’s all we need. I’d like to you to meet my friend ---“

“Wait,” Stark interjected.

Before Peter could say another word, Stark took off his sunglasses and pointed at me.

“Is this…..” he started in Peter’s direction, before turning back to me.

“Aren’t you…..Little Shit? “

“Yes,” I answered enthusiastically. He did remember me.

”Although I’d like to think of myself as a big shit now, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Stark smiled while shaking his head at Peter. “This little shit….”

“That’s me. Little Miss ShitShine.”

“Ha!” He busted out. “Still got that sharp tongue, I see.”

“I file it daily, Sir.” I stuck out my tongue for good measure. Right past Stark, Peter discouraged me with a headshake. I gave him a nod and put it right back where it came from.

“Wait a minute,” Stark said, standing closer to me now. “Stick it out again. Is that a pierced tongue I see?”

Peter was doing a face-palm now, but I decided that was more for Stark.

“I don’t have a piercing in, but yeah, it’s pierced.” I poked my tongue out as demurely as possible.

Stark inspected it long and hard, nodding his head slowly. “That must have hurt.”

I shrugged. “Not half as bad as some of the others.”

“Others?” Stark kept his straight poker face intact-- with the exception of his eyebrows that were now sitting pretty high up on his forehead now. “Huh. So…..what ‘others’ do you have?”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter’s admonishment was dripping with righteous judgement.

“Oh….I just was joking, Dad,” Stark answered back towards Peter. “I didn’t mean for her to actually answer.” 

He then rolled his head back in my direction. “Unless…she wants to, of course.” With soulful eyes and a serious nod, he continued: “Because I’m all for a woman’s right to choose.”

“Ha!” I busted out. “I just called Peter ‘Dad’ the other night when he came into my bar and disapproved of my work uniform.” I winked over at Peter. “He’s such an old soul.”

“You own a bar,” Stark inquired. 

“Nah. It’s the bar that I work at –the Burgundy Room.” 

“What’s the address on that?” Stark whipped out his phone, waiting for my answer.

I glanced over at Peter for some guidance. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Maybe you’re better off where you are,” Peter blurted out to me before addressing Stark. 

“Oh, look at the time, Sir. Three minutes are up. I’ll be sure to get Michelle’s resume to you.” Peter swiftly walked to the door and opened it up back. 

Stark waved off Peter’s overtures though. “Honestly, I thought all this was for your little pal who’s always in a fedora.”

“Ned,” I offered.

“Yes. Ned was getting three minutes.” Stark looked up at me with amusement. “But for Little Shit here? She gets at least five minutes.”

“Two bonus minutes? That’s almost twice as long an interview than I was expecting. I’m honored.” I glanced over at Peter, giving him a thumbs up. He looked like he just wanted to flip me off.

“Well, this is more like a reunion of sorts, than an interview.” Stark was standing next to Peter now, and absent-mindedly patting his head in that stiff, fake sitcom Dad way. Peter took a step back though and faced Stark.

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean, reunion?” His voice sounded impatient. Peter looked back and forth at Stark and me. “Maybe someone can clue me in on how you two even know eachother exactly.”

Stark deferred to me.

“I told you, Parker. We met at our Senior Science Fair.”

“Okay….” Peter said looking at me with suspicious eyes. “That does not explain how you got a nickname like ‘Little Shit’ out of the exchange nor does it explain all of the rest of whatever-the-last-two-minutes have been.”

I looked at him like this was a no brainer. “Do you not remember my senior science project??”

His eyebrows knitted. He was drawing a blank, obviously. “What about your science project?”

He thought for a second more. “It was something bad, right? Like my brain is probably repressing it from my memory for self-protective reasons?”

I couldn’t believe he didn’t remember.

“I did a MythBusters themed project on the Female Orgasm? Principal Duim threatened to ban me from the fair and my mom threatened to sue him and the district back? So I had the ACLU defending me? And a news crew came? And I had to put a cover on my project display to shield all the innocent children? So I fashioned it into a mock peep show curtain display that went up and down when you inserted a quarter?”

I looked over at Stark: “All the proceeds went to Planned Parenthood, of course. Because like you,” I said in the most serious of tones,” I believe in a woman’s right to choose as well.”

That got me a finger gun and wink from the old man. 

“Oh, God….I did repress that from my memory,” Peter answered with a groan.

Stark took over the trip down memory lane, huddling closer to Peter.

“So, I go over to her display and she’s got two suits standing on either side of her, right? I mean, this kid was rolling with a bigger legal team than me—on a Tuesday!””

Peter just closed his eyes, no doubt wanting to will us into space at that moment. 

“ And her science display is covered by a peep show curtain. And of course I want to see what’s behind Curtain Number 1. But when was the last time I had even seen a quarter?”

“I would have gladly taken a credit card,” I offered.

Peter just glared at me. 

And yet Stark seemed oblivious to it all: “And I’m thinking, what the hell is happening here? Why hasn’t anyone else thought about livening up the Science Fair and bringing it into the 21st century like Michelle had?”

“I’m an innovator on top of being a little shit,” I said with a shrug.

Stark put up a lightbulb finger: “Or maybe….you’re an innovator BECAUSE you’re a little shit. You’re not afraid to shake up the order of things.”

That sounded to good to me. Stark started back where he left off, gripping Peter’s shoulder and pointing at me again.

“And here’s this tall drink of water in command of the spectacle, kicking kids away from the glory hole because they’re too young---“

“I think the correct term would be peep hole, Sir,” I interjected.

“Same difference,” Stark said without missing a beat. “And call me Tony. We’re amongst friends here.”

“You still make me call you Sir,” Peter grumbled in a resentful murmur.

“Fine. Tony,” I said. “But not the same difference at all. “ I raised my eyebrows knowingly. “You’re putting very different body parts up to that hole, depending on whether it’s for peeping or…glory. If you know what I mean…”

Tony thought for a moment before cracking up. “Ha! Correction granted.” He looked over at Peter and nodded his head in my direction. “She’s salty like Pepper.”

He then patted Peter’s back once before continuing. 

“So Happy finally finds me a quarter, and I get to look inside. And it’s a real video, with her busting a load of different female orgasm myths. Busting load after load...”

"Your word choices, Sir," Peter whispered quietly .

Stark looked over at me with a thumbs-up. “Excellent production value on that video, by the way.”

I shrugged modestly. “As Peter often says about me, I’m what you would call a modern-day Renaissance Woman.”

Stark looked over at Peter with true father affection. “That’s exactly what I used to call Pepper.”

I took over the story to speed it along since Peter looked like he was about to release a cyanide capsule in his mouth to escape his current misery.

“So, Stark, here, was being a real blow hard.”

Both Stark and Peter’s eyes widened. 

“Pardon me, “Stark says.

“Oh, you know you were,” I said accusingly.

Tony thought for a second: “Maybe a tiny bit.”

I nodded appreciatively at his admission.

“And Stark started boasting about how he didn’t really need to watch the video because his girl had no complaints. And because I was raised by wolves, I told Stark, ‘she may not have any complaints, but it sure sounds like she doesn’t have any compliments either.’” 

Stark took over next. “So, I told her, ‘Pepper is well taken care of. ‘ And I try to not elaborate further, given the fact it was a science fair.”

“What restraint,” Peter mumbled. 

Stark started laughing while holding onto Peter’s shoulder: “ And this little shit right here starts going off about how I’m unnecessarily taking credit for Pepper’s orgasms because they didn’t have anything to do with me or my efforts.“ 

“Because they don’t,” I interjected. “You missed the whole point of the video. Vaginal orgasms are largely mythical. And like many men, you imagine that a vaginal orgasm happens solely thanks to you and your penis. And what you don’t understand is that vaginal orgasms are in fact a combination of clitoral and vaginal and possibly anal synergy. And if she is getting her orgasm solely through vaginal intercourse because apparently you can’t be bothered with taking care of her clitoris at the same time, then it really has very little to do with you.”

Stark points at me while looking at Peter. “She just gave us the exact same monologue that she voiced at the fair right now. Very poignant. Excellent orator.“

"Oomph," was I heard in response from Peter.

Stark looked over at me: “Do you have a photographic memory too?”

“Who knows? I’m full of surprises.”

“That you are,”Stark said. He looked back at Peter: “But she left out the most important part where at the top of her lungs, she theorized that it was not my member, but most likely that Pepper’s distance between her vagina and clitoris was shorter than average, and that’s why she had no problem achieving vaginal orgasm. And that it was Pepper’s exceptional anatomical makeup that was to get sole credit.”

Peter looked at me in horror. “Michelle, you said that out loud? Loudly?”

“I know, “ Stark said like some gossipy bitch. “I couldn’t believe she said that either. As if my anatomy wasn’t exceptional or credit-worthy either.”

Peter slowly turned to Stark. “Wrong answer. NO. No, the problem isn’t that she didn’t compliment your…anatomy. It’s that she was saying things about Pepper’s anatomy in public that’s not proper.” He threw his hands up. “Why am I even having to explain the obvious here?” 

I pointed my index finger in Starks direction and loud-whispered to Peter,” I think he was raised by wolves too.”

“Wrong answer as well,” Peter said in my direction. 

“I didn’t even answer anything, Peter. And please, lets’ not worry about Pepper Potts public honor so much. She’s the same person who talks about the joys of vaginal steamcleaning in her lifestyle blog. I think she’ll weather the storm of me publicly declaring that she had a clitoris five years ago.”

Peter gave me a semi-concilitory head nod.

“ Long story short, Peter, since you seem over it. After I said all that, Mr. No-Impulse-Control here blurted out that I as a little shit. And everyone assumed I was litigious creature who would make a big deal of him calling me that. Instead, I told him it was a compliment coming from him, and everyone sighed in relief and had a good laugh.”

Stark nodded in agreement. “We really did have a good laugh.”

I gave Stark a pointed stare, however. “WELL, we had a good laugh AFTER your large adult son Happy confiscated all cell phones and erased any video evidence of the exchange. “

Tony looked at me like I was insane. “Happy’s not my son—he’s older than I am.”

“Well, if you don’t want people to confuse him for your large adult son, maybe you shouldn’t call a grown man Happy while snapping your fingers and making him carry your Golden Son Peter’s science project back to the limousine like the Red-Headed-Foster-Son that he is.”

He looked at me in awe and snapped his fingers. “Are you witnessing this, Peter? The only person who gets away with this with me is Pepper---“

“----ANOTHER problematic name, by the way, Tony—“

“Ha!” He yelled out again in seeming delight. “You’re a live wife. “

“Wire, Tony,” I corrected.

“Yeah, that’s what a meant. Freudian slip…”

“Yikes….” Peter .

Listen….” He got a little closer. “Pepper has been indispensable to me as my executive assistant-slash-partner-slash-everythingelse all these years. But we’re….”

He nodded his head side to side, “giving eachother some professional and personal space at the moment. I’m lost without her. And everyone I’ve interviewed for the position has been too deferential and admiring if not downright worshipping.”

I pointed at him and gave Peter a “is this dude for real” face.

“I need someone who can whip me into shape. Really good.”

“Oh, God, Sir. Please don’t divulge your personal life style choices with Pepper anymore than you already have,” Peter blurted out. 

“Not that type of whip--,” Stark began to say, but then thought better of it. “Fine. I need someone who can be firm with me and keep me in line. Professionally speaking of course.”

“Ha!” I yelped back. “But I get it, Tony. Who’s going to help distinguish glory and peep holes for you if they think you walk on---“

“Water,” Tony cut me off to finish my sentence. His smile widened and he said just a little too excitedly, “EXXACTLY.” 

The word came out more like a hiss with an emphasis on that X.

“Nope. We’re done here. I need you both to separate right now.” Peter used his hands to cut through air. “It’s like you’re fusing into one person and it’s very disturbing.”

“Okay, Dad,” Stark and I both said at the same time. We looked at eachother in open mouthed delight.

“Jinx!” We both yelled out together.

“Ha!” We blurted out while finger gunning eachother, making us laugh even more. Peter meanwhile looked a second away from sucking his thumb for self-soothing purposes.

“Out….one of you, out now.” Peter’s finger of judgement was pointing to the door.  
“Michelle. TONY, “ he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Either one of you will do. Hell, both of you, actually, can leave. This is going to live on in my nightmares long after you two both stop cackling like hyenas in unison.”

Tony looked at Peter for a beat; then he looked at me for a moment, before doing an “OHHH!” face. 

Apparently, Peter wouldn’t need to suck his thumb after all, ‘cause fake dad Tony Ray Cyrus was back to patting his back now.

“I’ll leave,” Tony offered. He looked at Peter with worried eyes. “ And um….if you want to talk about it, Son, I’d really appreciate it if you came up to see me later on. Maybe for lunch? Happy just whipped up some homemade frozen pudding pops, your favorite dessert.”

“It’s never been my favorite dessert,” Peter said with a grumble.

“How could it not be,” Tony asked in absolute shock.

This whole time, I thought Stark was fashioning himself after Billy Ray Cyrus Montana. But obviously, given Stark’s age, that didn’t make sense. However, a pre-scandal, 80’s dad icon Dr. Bill Cosby Huxtable? Made perfect sense. 

And that realization made me feel a surge of sympathy for all the damn pudding pops Peter probably had to eat for the last several years while Tony tried with the very few resources he had to parent Peter.

Damn, children raised by wolves could sniff eachother out in no time flat.

“Michelle, good to see you again, Kiddo. “ His tone was formal and slightly paternal, so I mirrored in kind.

“Good to see you too, Sir. Peter has my resume. I can totally act normal, when I need to, by the way. Peter can vouch for that-he’s always impressed by my keen sense of people skills,” I said with a quick wink towards Parker. That got him to smile a little. 

“Sounds good.” He looked back at Peter. “Pudding Pops. Twenty minutes.”

And left promptly.

“Jesus, do you really have to eat pudding pops with him?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Only when he thinks he really needs to make it up to me.”

“Yikes. Tell him that if he really wants to make it up to you, a Tesla would go further than a frozen dessert that was never meant to be frozen in the first place.”

Peter just nodded.

“Well….overall, that went well, “ I said with a chuckle. I sat beside him on the edge of the desk. Both our sets of legs started swinging back in forth in unison.

Peter looked at our legs for a moment before glancing up at me. “I still need to make you a list of basic do’s and don’ts for how to act normally in social interactions.”

“Oh yeah? What from the last ten minutes would you start that list with?”

“Don’t talk about sex, dicks, clitoral-vaginal distances, peep holes, glory holes…”

“Oh please. Like you’re one to talk, blurting out how Pepper Potts is Stark’s Dom! “

He tried to give me a scolding look, but ended up laughing.

He nudged me with his shoulders. “I just wanted you not to have to work with a bunch of horny drunks while wearing your underwear. And when I heard you were looking for another job, I wanted to help out.”

“I know,” I said softly.

“And this seemed like a great opportunity for you. Until he called you his wife two minutes into meeting you and started finishing your sentences within five minutes.”

I cracked up. “Oh, please, he finished my sentence that started with walking-on-blank. How hard is it to fill in that blank with water??”

He nodded in agreement.

He gave me a small smile and just shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with you, Michelle Jones.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “You never have.”


End file.
